Bacon

I can smell bacon. But not even good bacon.

It's not that delicious smell that wakes you up on Sunday morning and you realise a yummy breakfast will await you if you are willing to drag yourself out of bed.

It's the chemically, artificial, horrid smell of those bacon flavoured biscuits. Oh, how I hate bacon flavoured biscuits.

In non-meat related news, number 14 on my chocolate advent calender is a lantern.

It's funny (to me at the very least). When my mum bought advent calenders for my sisters but not me, I put on the sad act and acted all devastated that I was apparently "too old" for an advent calender until Mum went back out and bought me one. Now that I have it, I only eat out of it about as often as I blog.

I suppose that's why only kids get them. Us oldies don't have enough time to keep up to date with them. However, on the upside, forgetting about the advent calender means that when you do remember it you get 4 or 5 at a time. :)

Oh being old is grand, as is being in love.

*sigh* I wish you weren't so shy. That would make my cowardice less of an issue. All yesterday I considered just e-mailing you but I can't do that. That's would be the easy coward's way out.

'Aimee, you are a coward...'

Shut up voice.

I can still smell bacon. Nose-wrinkled-up-in-disgustface.